Let me try and describe the Sanur area.
It’s where Barack Obama stayed when he visited here.
The Island was one trafic jam cluster fuck the ten days Barry stayed here.
It was reported he visited the oracle.
‘What the fuck, are you sure you want to say something so inflammatory?’
Bernhard, you really should know me by now.
Barry caught a helicopter to East Java, it was all on the hush hush.
And who do you think showed up at the meeting, I raised my left eyebrow at the question.
It was his fucking Indonesia step dad.
And the meeting didn’t go well.
‘What have you done for Islam,’ asked the old man who use to take care of Barry and his mother, when they were dirt poor. ‘You just gave the West another name for Al–Qaeda. That’s your legacy buster.’
Barry denied, denied.
‘And Bin Laden,’ continued the step dad, ‘that was a cute pony show you orchestrated. We all got down on our knees and started sucking your cock then, didn’t we Barry.’
‘When I did what,’ asked Barry.
‘When you sucked Bin Laden’s cock and gave him and the Saudis a pardon for 9-11, we do read the New York Post here in Indonesia, so don’t get cute on me Barry. And we all know that Bin Laden is alive and living a life of luxury in a harem in Saudi.’
Pretty much the oracle, you know, I said to Bernhard, the mamasan at your bar at the village of sweet smelling water, told the US President that ‘you can fool me once, but you can’t fool me twice.’
It really put the wind out of Barry. He knew he was living on borrowed time.
‘There will be a plain speaker, bad hairstyle, a man who doesn’t mind mingling with the rich and poor, and he’ll trump you in the next election with an avalanche win.’
That’s how Barry really lost, I told the boys.
Sana was scouting for whores. He couldn’t wait to show us a few karaoke bars.
‘More time speak politics,’ he said in his functional English, ‘but now time for talk whoring.’
That’s it, Obama was pimping for someone, just who, only the oracle knew.